Season's Bleedings: Two seasonal short horror stories Read online

  Season’s Bleedings

  By Jacob Rayne

  A Rayne of Terror publication

  Also available from Rayne of Terror

  Becoming…

  The Lazarus Contagion

  Sunshine

  Flesh Harvest

  Walk in the Park

  Digital Children

  Perpetual Darkness

  A Feast of Flesh: Flesh Harvest II

  Season’s Bleedings, The Curse of Harry Land, and excerpt from The Lazarus Contagion

  Copyright © Saul Bainbridge (Writing as Jacob Rayne) 2014

  All rights reserved

  This is dedicated to all my friends and family who have made 2014 such an incredible year. You know who you are and, more importantly, I know who you are.

  Your enthusiasm and support mean the world to me.

  Thank you all so much.

  Have a great Christmas and I’ll see you in the New Year for more fast-paced, blood-up-the-walls, nightmare-inducing mayhem…

  Cheers, you absolute legends!

  Season’s Bleedings

  ‘Mama, why are we doing this?’ Nicky said, his voice strained with exertion as he and his brother, Willy, fought to hold the thrashing, bleating lamb still.

  ‘Shh, just hold the blessed thing steady,’ she said, the kitchen knife clutched tight between her teeth.

  Their feet crunched in the snow as they struggled to keep hold of the terrified animal.

  Mama cursed as the blade drew a bead of blood from her lip.

  ‘Just hold it still,’ she hissed, backhanding the blood away as it began to run down her chin.

  The lamb’s struggles intensified, as though it knew the purpose for which the blade, now in her gloved hand, was intended. Its eyes looked like they were on the verge of popping out of its woolly face and landing in the snow beneath it.

  She took a deep breath, tipped her head up to the leaden sky, noting the snowflakes that billowed down all around her, cloaking the village in a soft, cold blanket.

  Her own eyes bulged a little when she looked back to the lamb. Her lips drew into a tight line.

  The lamb let out a cry that sickened and saddened Nicky.

  Mama put the tip of the knife to the lamb’s throat and paused for a second.

  Then she dug the knife in hard, pulling it across the stricken beast’s skinny throat. Nicky looked away, scrunched his eyes shut so tight it hurt, but smelt the coppery tang of the liberated blood.

  He heard it cascade onto the snow beneath the lamb’s quaking body.

  Heard the hiss as the scarlet deluge melted the snow around them.

  The lamb let out a pitiful bleat as its legs gave way and dumped it in the melting crimson snow beneath it.

  ‘That’s it, lads,’ Mama said. ‘Well done.’

  Willy stared at the lamb, watching its death throes.

  ‘It’s over,’ he told Nicky.

  Nicky opened his eyes to see the lamb’s eyes rolling back into its skull. Its neck was a hideous scarlet smile that his eyes fixated upon.

  The double helping of Mama’s homemade bread that he’d had for supper came rocketing up his throat and splashed the snow at his feet.

  ‘Got ya,’ Willy laughed.

  Nicky wanted to punch him but felt too weak and sick to move.

  ‘Get used to it, Nicky,’ Mama said. ‘You’re a man now. Ten years old. Consider yourself lucky. I was getting my hands bloody at five.’

  ‘Every year this time,’ Willy said. ‘You’ll come to look forward to it, like I do.’

  Willy was thirteen and this was his fourth sacrifice. Mama had promised that next year he could wield the wicked blade that gathered dust until the year’s first snow fell.

  Willy winced as Mama’s hand cuffed him hard round the back of the head. ‘That’s one of God’s creatures we’ve just slaughtered,’ she snarled. ‘You show some respect and pity, lad.’

  ‘Sorry, Mama.’

  Mama went to head back inside but stopped when Willy called her.

  ‘Ain’t you gonna say the verse, Mama?’

  ‘Oh, my sweet lord, how could I forget?’ Mama said, shaking her head in disappointment.

  Her gloved left hand grasped Willy’s right hand. Her right hand fished into her pocket. She counted out twenty pieces of silver and skimmed them into the bloody slush that was spreading around the lamb’s twitching corpse.

  Then her right hand grasped Nicky’s hand. The blood squelched against his bare palm, making his stomach churn once more. He tasted puke in his throat.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Mama assured him. ‘This time next year you’ll not be so squeamish.’

  Her hands clenched those of her children, gripping them tight enough to make their bones creak.

  ‘Say this after me,’ she told Nicky, speaking quietly as though singing a lullaby. ‘Blood for the blood god.’

  ‘Blood for the blood god,’ Nicky repeated.

  ‘Love, yes, we love God,’

  ‘Love, yes, we love God.’

  ‘Take from us this gift of gore.’

  ‘Take from us this gift of gore.’

  ‘Keep the devil from our door.’

  ‘Keep the devil from our door.’

  With that, she bowed her head, closed her eyes for a second.

  Nicky copied. When her hand slipped away from his, he opened his eyes.

  She dipped two fingers into the bloody slush that still spread from beneath the lamb’s body and daubed a cross on her forehead. Willy copied the ritual.

  They both looked at Nicky expectantly.

  His hand shook as he bent down and reached for the blood. His stomach did a somersault as he dipped his first two fingers into the warm slick mess.

  He brought them slowly up to his forehead, wanting to delay the repulsive feel of the blood on his face for as long as possible.

  Then he swallowed hard and quickly made the sign of the cross.

  ‘Well done, Nicky,’ Mama said, hugging him hard. ‘Willy, take the poor beast round back and get carving. No sense in it dying for nuthin’.’

  Willy struggled to keep the amusement from his face as he grabbed the animal’s hind legs and dragged it up the path that led up the back of the house, leaving a slick, steaming scarlet trail in the snow behind him.

  The removal of the lamb’s carcass made Nicky’s stomach feel better, but he felt certain the memories of what they had done would stay with him for the rest of his life.

  ‘I promise you it gets better,’ Mama said, clapping a hand against his back. ‘Well done, lad. Let’s get inside ’fore we catch are deaths.’

  She moved back inside. Nicky stayed outside for a second, looking down at the pinkish patch of melted snow with the blood-stained silver coins strewn across it. Then he swallowed hard and turned and went back into the warmth.

  ‘Mama, why do we do this?’ Nicky asked.

  The slaughter of the lamb seemed so senseless, so savage, and he failed to see the reason for it.

  She sighed deeply. ‘For the greater good, Nicky,’ she said, using her bloody index finger to flick away the tear that had begun to roll down his cheek. ‘You see, we need to shed blood and give pieces of silver the day the first snow falls.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the devil in the red suit can claim the souls of any family that doesn’t make the offering.’

  Nicky gulped. His throat felt like it was lined with grit.

  ‘Cheer up, buddy,’ Willy said, smacking him heavily on the arm. ‘We done the offering, so we’re safe for one more year.’

  This did little to console him.


  ‘What if we didn’t do it?’

  Mama’s eyes went wide, reminding him of the lamb that had just bled out on the snow.

  ‘Then he might choose to take one of us,’ she said, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘But we will do this ritual every year, to keep him away.’

  The ominous ‘Devil’ Mama had spoken of stayed away from their house that year, although some of the townsfolk had not been so lucky.

  Nicky still woke, sweating and screaming, seeing the lamb’s bulging eyes and the gushing wound in its throat.

  Mama knew the cause of the screams and always held him and stroked his hair until he fell back to sleep.

  Willy taunted him about the possibility of early snow, and the fact that he’d soon be seeing another innocent creature bleeding out on its crisp white canvas.

  Nicky screamed at him to shut up, often launching into him with fists and feet.

  The snow did indeed come early the next year but Mama had had the lamb ready for a few weeks, keeping him tethered up in the bathroom to keep him away from the elements and any thieves who might have wanted it.

  The only problem was that this year they were flat broke. Mama hadn’t made as much money in her job as she had hoped and a recent tax hike by the prick in charge of the town had left everybody short on cash.

  The idea of not being able to offer the silver pieces needed to satisfy the blood god terrified Mama and her whole personality seemed to change. It was like a shadow had fallen across her soul, making her all darkness instead of love and care and affection.

  She had snapped at both Nicky and Willy over the weeks leading up to the first snow fall, at the realisation that she was well short of the amount needed. She tried to lend the money, but no one was in a position to offer any help.

  She contemplated stealing, but the penalty for this crime would arguably have been harsher than risking one of her children being taken by the devil in the red suit.

  Instead, she begged until her throat bled, but she was still short of the money.

  Mama let out a cry of utter despair as the sky turned white and the first flakes of snow caressed the earth outside their wooden-walled home.

  The colour drained from Nicky’s face as he saw the shadow fall across Mama’s face again. If she was worried then things must be bad.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Willy said, ‘Trust me.’

  Nicky looked up at him. The look of utter conviction on his brother’s face convinced him for a while.

  ‘We’ll have to give what we have and hope for the best,’ Mama said, her grave tone indicating that she felt this wouldn’t be even close to appeasing the blood god.

  ‘Hey, everyone’s poorer this year,’ Willy said, ‘Maybe no one has the money so we might have a much better chance of getting away with it.’

  ‘Reckon you’re right,’ Mama said, but the look in her eyes told a different story.

  After slaughtering the lamb and throwing the paltry amount of silver pieces they did have into the steaming snow, they went back inside.

  Mama was right; the lamb’s death this year wasn’t as bad. Still horrific, no question, but the worry of the blood god’s wrath descending upon them was a much more prominent thought in Nicky’s mind.

  The snow continued to fall. The lamb’s tender flesh was wasted on Nicky and Mama, who had hardly any appetite due to their worries. Willy went back for thirds.

  They waited to see if the devil in the red suit came for them.

  Everyone they spoke to in town said that they had fallen short of the amount needed to keep the devil from the door. Mama lightened a little at this news, maybe they would be lucky.

  She slept poorly for the next few weeks, her imagination turning every noise outside the house into the approach of the sinister man in the red suit.

  Her eyes were heavily bagged like she had been battered during the few hours of sleep she did get each night. Her irises were more red than white, her demeanour sourer than a cartful of lemons.

  Nicky slept badly too, but was reassured by his mama’s promise to protect him to the bitter end. Mama was hard as nails. He’d seen the proof of this when someone had tried to break into their house and taken an agonising one way trip to the graveyard.

  So when he heard a tinkling of bells and the sound of footsteps across the thatched roof of their cottage, he stirred but didn’t feel any alarm. Sleep’s embrace still held him until he heard footsteps creaking on the floorboards outside the door.

  Nicky went to call for Mama, but his throat was suddenly so dry he couldn’t speak. The sound of Willy’s bedroom door creaking open grated against his ears.

  He tried to call for mama, but his voice again eluded him. He got out of bed, legs unsteady, head spinning. It felt like the time he had slyly downed a cupful of Mama’s mead. He had the same sickly feeling in his belly too.

  His heart thumped in his ears like the ticking of some giant clock.

  He crept to the doorway, where he heard muffled sounds from Willy’s room.

  He tried to open the door, but it seemed like it had been nailed shut.

  His hands brayed on the cold wood, and, finally, he heard the sounds of his mother cursing and shuffling around in the corridor. She entered with a shove that made the door quake in its frame.

  His paralysis broke when he heard Willy’s scream. He ran down the corridor on jelly legs, wincing when he saw that Willy’s window was shattered, the curtains blowing into the room, bringing with them a whirlwind of snow.

  Something huge and clad in red had Willy in a bloody hessian sack that was slung over its shoulder. The stench of blood and death clung to the immense thing. It started to climb out of the window.

  Nicky cried out.

  The big red thing turned and Nicky saw blood red eyes, hidden behind thick white bristles. The skin he could see had a waxy pallor. It seemed to smile at him. He was grateful he couldn’t see the mouth properly in the shadows of the room.

  Then it disappeared from view, carrying Willy as easily as if he was a sack of feathers. There was a loud clumping sound from the roof. Nicky ducked out of the window to see if there was any way up onto the roof but the icy thatch refused to let him grip it.

  ‘Get away from there,’ his mother screamed, as he leaned out of the window.

  The sound of clawed feet scrabbled across the roof above them.

  He’d never seen his Mama look so frightened in all of his life.

  ‘Do something, Mama,’ he moaned. ‘They’ve got Willy.’

  She nodded, her jaw flapping up and down like that of a fish that had been rudely hauled out of the water.

  There was an inhuman cry from the roof and the sound of the clawed feet gaining purchase and picking up speed. Then there was an immense scraping sound, like God dragging his furniture across the floor of the heavens.

  Nicky looked on, wide-eyed, as a blood-smeared snout appeared over the edge of the roof above him. The jaws snapped shut a few feet from his face, breathing a charnel scent into his nostrils. The wolf’s face was twisted into a blood-stained mask of hate, its teeth, fresh with gore, snapping again at him.

  He pulled away, unable to believe the appalling sight before him. Another blood-slicked muzzle appeared to the left of the first. The owner of this one seemed more placid but Nicky was still in no hurry to go and pet it.

  The wolves began running and just dived off the end of the house in a manoeuvre that looked positively suicidal. A second pair of wolves followed, then a third and fourth. The wolves took flight, as if blown by the wind that gusted so fiercely that Nicky had to close his eyes for a second.

  Then an animalistic snarl came, followed by the crack of a whip and the wolves began running faster, their feet clawing at the empty air beneath them. They dragged the heavy sled off the roof and again, it looked as though it was going to fall but floated on the very air itself. The blood red sleigh appeared.

  Nicky saw thick white hair and those blazing red eyes and he swore he heard the devil in the sl
eigh laughing at him. The wriggling pile of bloody hessian sacks mercifully drew Nicky’s eye away from the beast piloting the gravity-defying vehicle.

  Willy’s in one of those sacks, he had time to think, before the sleigh took off in a roar of rushing wind and wolf snarls.

  Nicky leant out of the window and dived out, ignoring Mama’s howl of distress at the idea of losing both sons in quick succession.

  His fingers caught the edge of the sleigh and a shock went through him. It was like touching solid ice.

  The thing in the pilot seat didn’t seem to have noticed him, thank the gods.

  He held on for dear life as the sleigh took off at a lethal speed. He struggled to pull himself up. Gravity, cruel bitch that she was, did her utmost to pull his arms right out of their sockets.

  The white-clad fields below them rushed by and he could see that they were headed out of town, towards the grim, snow-assailed Skull Mountain.

  His breath came in ragged bursts as he tried to summon the strength to haul himself over the edge and into the sleigh.

  His eyes began to bulge when he saw one of the hessian sacks moving. The face revealed was that of Willy, but it was pale, blood-spattered, glassy-eyed.

  The sack pulled back further to reveal four parallel wounds, two on Willy’s throat, one on his chin and one on his chest. All seeped blood that looked as thick and dark as molasses and were deep enough to reveal gleaming, blood-slicked bone.

  This made Nicky close his eyes, but he opened them seconds later when he heard a horrid gurgling noise.

  He looked up and saw Willy was sitting up, despite the wounds, despite the pallor, despite the fact that he was so obviously dead, and smiling at him.

  That was when his fingers let go of the sleigh and he was sent plunging through the billowing snow towards the white earth below.

  When Nicky awoke he was amazed to have survived the fall from the sleigh. The thick blanket of snow had cushioned his fall. The only problem was that now he was soaking wet, shivering, possibly on the verge of hypothermia. He hurt from arsehole to eyelids.

  The realisation of why he was here hit him like a falling tree and he cried out in alarm as he remembered what he had seen in the moments before he had landed.